


Bonding mission

by WahlBuilder



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Intersex Astartes, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Moresomes, Multi, Pack Cuddles, Porn with Feelings, Strengthening the bonds between the Legions through sex and cuddles, Wolf Pack, working on making it an official AO3 tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9660224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Five Space Wolves and a son of Magnus are stuck in a snowstorm, and the sorcerer is in distress, so the Wolves decide to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actualkoschei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkoschei/gifts).



> A birthday present to my wonderful Battle-Sister! I'm so happy to know you.
> 
> I took some liberties with the Space Wolves traditional Pack organisation and ranks.

This was not supposed to go like this. Aile watches as the snow rages outside. Snow is nothing new, and certainly it is not a threat for a child of Fenris—but this particular weather is foul, dark lightnings twisting like great snakes in the sky, making Aile’s hands twitch for the hilt of her chainaxe. Some witchcraft has been expected, aye, and for that a contingent of the children of Prospero has been sent to aid in the scouting of the strange rogue planet that did not revolve around any star.

Aile glances at the sorcerer assigned to her Pack. The storm has been raging for half a daily cycle of the planet, making long-ranged communication impossible and jamming several systems of the Power Armour. Mostly the leg parts. They have been forced to get rid of the armour entirely. But Aile’s Pack has their furs into which they has promptly wrapped themselves—and the son of Magnus has nothing other than the bodyglove he wore under the armour. A sorry sight, Enten is, arms wrapped about himself, sitting as close to the fire they have managed to start as possible, and still shivering once in a few breaths. A sorry sight—and a beautiful sight.

The flames dance on the swirly markings on his cheekbones, making the black ink come alive. There are several pierce holes running along the shell of his ears, and Aile imagines him wearing heavy golden earrings adorned with bright-coloured enamel or with turquoise. Gold shall look well on his umber skin. Aile recalls the contents of her jewelry box and tries to choose what could be used as a gift. These joint missions are meant to strengthen the bonds between the Legions, and a gift would certainly strengthen such a bond.

He is not faring well, poor brother. Whatever vile energies are haunting this planet, they must be hurting him—and his resolve to not show pain or discomfort is admirable, but sometimes it’s better to reach out for help.

Aile’s planning of approach to the secluded son of Magnus are interrupted when she hears the heavy steps of her kindred. They emerge from the corridor that run deeper into the mountain out of the cave that has been their shelter since the beginning of the storm.

‘Report,’ Aile commands, though by their scent coloured with the dark blues of frustration she can tell their scouting has not provided good results.

One of the scouting warriors, a pup name Leiv, flops on the floor and smoothes his furs. He’s much lighter in complexion than the other members of Aile’s pack, almost white—and with a thatch of flaming red hair. ‘Nothing, sister. The tunnelwork ends with a drop to the abyss, and if we don’t grow wings, we will not cross it.’

Aile chuckles. She likes the pup, his cheekiness, his quick wit. He might make a good Wolf Priest. He always listens to others, and he has managed to wrap her Pack right around his finger. Good pup. If her pack doesn’t claim him during his next rut, somebody else will for sure.

For his words, and the improper behaviour in the face of his Pack-leader, the pup earns himself a cuff to the head from the Long Claw of the Pack, Aile’s old friend Runa. ‘No, we are not growing wings, runt, quit spinning yarns. You make us fall in the eyes of our guest.’

‘It seems,’ the sorcerer says, ‘that it is I who has fallen in your eyes, kindred. I was supposed to help, but I have become a liability instead.’

The flames catch on beads of sweat on Enten’s forehead, crowning him with a ringlet of burning gold. The sweat has a strange, pulling sweetness to it. As Aile rolls this sweetness on her tongue, her Pack leans closer to the sorcerer without even noticing it. Even the pup moves.

Aile flashes her fangs, and they stop—like willows bowing to the wind’s will. Establishing order this way, Aile moves to the sorcerer herself and crouches opposite of him, across the fire. The smell of burning wood cannot hide the sweetness wafting from Enten, so thick Aile can swallow it.

‘You are in heat, brother,’ she says, pushing away at the inner wolf. It’s only the beginning, and Aile does not know how fast it progresses for children of Magnus. But it sure is tempting, calling to her Pack, calling to her inner wolf, calling to answer the heat. The temperature has risen a few notches, and Aile would be a fool to blame it on the fire. ‘Uffe has inhibitors,’ she offers, gesturing at the Wolf Priest. ‘Enough to last you for a while.’ She winces internally. Inhibitors are not nice on Wolves, though maybe Prosperians tolerate them better. ‘Or,’ she grins and leans closer to the fire, and it licks her cheeks, ‘we can solve the issue a different way.’

The sorcerer lifts his eyes. They are almost completely black, with only a thin circle of amber around the pupil. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose myself on you, sister.’

‘Members of the Pack go into heat at the same time, and we have some control over the process. If I get going,’ Aile gestures at her kindred, ‘they will follow in no time.’ It won’t be hard, because—she cuffs herself mentally for a terrible choice of words—she’s already getting hard. Aile has never been with a sorcerer, but she doesn’t think it would be that much different from being with other Astartes. And this one is so beautiful.

Enten looks into the fire briefly, then lifts his eyes again. ‘Yes.’

Aile almost topples into the flames.

She has enough presence of mind to circle the fire, then tugs at the sorcerer’s hand. ‘C’mon, c’mon…’ Enten’s soft chuckle only spurs her on.

Her Pack has already built a soft fur nest—good Wolves, good, ought to reward them at some point this night—and the sorcerer follows Aile easily, and she pushes him into the nest.

Enten goes down, and she follows, tugging at the zippers of his bodyglove. The neck opens first, releasing another wave of the sweet scent, and Aile moans and fastens her fangs on the neck, licking the sweet sweat off the skin. The pulse under her mouth is curiously calm, and she suddenly remembers that she’s not with one of her Pack and the sorcerer might not appreciate roughhousing.

She licks his neck and kisses it in silent apology, and the sorcerer murmurs something in reply. A few extra hands come to the rescue and help Aile divest Enten and she busies herself with covering Enten’s neck and shoulders with kisses and careful nips.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ the sorcerer murmurs. His breath is getting ragged.

‘How are you still talking?’ Aile covers his mouth with hers. It’s wet and messy and wonderful, and Enten’s mouth tastes like spiced honey. She leaves him for a moment necessary to shrug off her furs and take off her own bodyglove, and again she feels the paws of her Pack, but she doesn’t stop watching the sorcerer, and the Pack keeps away for now.

Aile rakes a gaze over the sorcerer’s lean body. It’s shimmering, and there are more tattoos, long lines of script wrapped like vines around his torso and his thighs, and they seem to move in the dancing light. She turns her gaze lower where her prize awaits her. The sorcerer is not particularly big, but hard and sweet, veins standing up, and when Aile puts a hand on his knee, Enten spreads his thighs further apart, and the sweet, sweet scent makes Aile’s head spin. The lips of his quim are glistering in the firelight already.

‘What do you want?’ Aile rasps, mouth dry.

‘Take me,’ the sorcerer breathes out.

She has to grip her prick at the base to not spill before time.

Aile growls and hooks his legs over her waist. His moist folds press to her right thigh, hot and slick, and Enten gasps, squirming on the furs, rubbing himself against her thigh. The furs will be drenched in his scent.

Aile props herself on one hand and runs the other over Enten’s hard prick, eliciting another gasp. ‘I will take you so nicely you will carry a pup,’ she growls, thumbing the slit of his prick as he drenches her thigh in his juices. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

The sorcerer bares his teeth, gleaming-white. ‘You are... all talk so far.’

She repositions them slightly, and, braced on one arm over him, slides into his wet heat all the way inside.

A choir of howls answers the sorcerer’s sharp inhale and her own groan.

Aile forgets about the mission, about the storm, about her Pack for one long moment, savouring the sensation of the other’s body welcoming her in. She opens her eyes, wondering when she has closed them, and watches her lover. An otherwordly flame peeks in his half-closed eyes like stars in a cloudy sky. The sweetness of his scent is mingling with hers, and she already can’t separate herself from him, and doesn’t want to.

‘Mine,’ she hears a growl, and realises that it came from her own throat. She reaches between their bodies where they fit so nicely together, swipes her fingers through the wetness and closes her fist on Enten’s cock.

He arches off their bedding, trembling, fingers clawing at the furs, then whispers, ‘Move!’

And Aile does.

It’s a race to completion, as the first coupling at the start of the heat usually is, and so Aile thrusts into Enten’s scalding-hot body without mercy, driving abrupt little gasps out of him. She is stroking him as well, out of sync with her trusts, sloppy, but it doesn’t take much as Enten arches again, blue lights cascading off his skin, and spills onto his stomach. His body spasms around Aile, and with a growl, she fills his willing womb with her seed.

Aile is trembling, not from the exertion but from the already fading blue flames pecking her skin, and from the rush of hormones that is her body’s answer to Enten’s heat. She is not ready to leave the vice of his quim, and so she slides her hands under his back—the furs are _soaked_ —and rolls them both carefully onto their sides.

There is a high whine coming from behind Aile.

She smiles. ‘Do you need to have a break, sorcerer? Or are you ready to go on?’

Enten doesn’t reply at first, only nestles closer to her chest. His skin is burning, but the magic lights have faded completely. ‘I need a moment,’ he answers at length. ‘I feel that you are still hard…’ Aile’s breath catches in her throat as he squeezes her in emphasis.

‘It takes a few more times for me to get soft when I’m in heat.’ She cups the back of his shaven head, enjoying the calm moment. You get used to cherishing these quiet moments in between the surges of need during the heat.

The whine repeats more insistently, and then a voice, she can’t tell whose, pleads, ‘Sister…’

‘You may join,’ she acquiesces, reminding her inner wolf that it’s her Pack and not some strangers trying to snatch away her prize. Though she makes no move to let Enten out of her arms—and he makes no move to free himself either.

The fern green scent of Runa twines with Aile’s, thickened by the induced heat, as strong arms wrap around Aile in a tight embrace, and Runa’s fangs graze her shoulder but not penetrate her skin, waiting for permission. Aile decides that it would be too intimate and uncomfortable to their guest if they shared blood tonight, so she only turns her head just so to invite a kiss from Runa. It’s unhurried as the long nights that they share together usually go, and there is a sweetness to Runa’s breath—not the honeyed sweetness of Enten, but the more solid taste that Aile knows so well.

A smaller hand brushes Aile’s skin where she is pressed tight to Enten, and she breaks the kiss to growl and scold Leiv for moving out of turn—and meets his feverish, miserable gaze. His scent is an uneven, stuttering wave of crimson, and he’s leaking it terribly.

‘Please, sister…’ he whispers. His pupils are as blown as Enten’s.

His first heat. She has forgotten about that, and so to correct her mistake Aile allows him to join them before his elders. ‘Just this once, pup,’ she warns him and moves to slide out of Enten’s warmth, but the sorcerer only presses himself closer to her and rubs himself against her.

‘There’s plenty of me for everyone,’ he murmurs, words slightly slurred.

Leiv is already mouthing at the nape of his neck, and his hands are wandering over Enten’s front wherever there is enough space to slot his hands between Enten and Aile.

The position is good enough for everyone, so Aile moves a hand under one of Enten’s thighs, hooks it higher over her hip and starts thrusting into him again, shallowly and more gently than the first time. Enten rubs his face against her chest and mouths her nipple, and Aile is carried in the warm waves of heat again.

She hisses when Enten bites her nipple hard—it seems, in the moment when Leiv enters him from behind, judging by Leiv’s soft groans—and then Aile groans herself when Runa spears her.

With a thick prick moving inside her, and Enten’s soft wet walls rippling against her own length, with a mouth on her chest, Runa’s fingers circled over her prick and squeezing it whenever Aile moves out of Enten’s body, with familiar and unfamiliar scents twining around her, Aile is being raised to the height of mutual pleasure again, and even in the haze of it she makes sure her lovers are just as satisfied.

Aile leaves Enten’s body after spilling into him the second time, the sorcerer boneless, a small smile on his lips, and they let Leiv pleasure the sorcerer with his mouth. Aile, lying in Runa’s arms, with seed slowly seeping out of her, watches the pup working sloppily but enthusiastically, alternating between swallowing Enten’s prick and making broads swipes of tongue over his quim, licking away Aile’s seed.

Enten comes like that the second and the third time, and Aile notes that the pup shows talent but needs to work on his technique. Enten ruffles the pup’s hair, and the pup whimpers and licks the sorcerer’s palm, making Enten chuckle. Aile likes that sound.

She looks around and finds the last two members of her Pack entwined, wrestling playfully by the fire and nipping at each other’s neck. Uffe and Hakon are soulbonded, and where one goes, the other follows. Hakon pins his mate to the ground and gets a bite on his arm for his efforts, then Uffe murmurs something, and they both turn their glazed eyes to Aile.

She nods to them, giving them permission to finally join.

The Pack works better as a whole.

They don’t forget that this is for Enten—and for Leiv, now—so they quickly rearrange themselves to keep both of their central figures occupied and overwhelmed by touch, smell, taste, and movement.

They forget about the storm howling outside.

***

Aile wakes up in a tangle of limbs that she can’t separate at first. She runs a check of her own body: someone—judging by a soft beard, it’s Uffe—is using her left thigh as a pillow and wetting it with their saliva, and if it is Uffe, then Hakon must be near them; Runa is, as always, spooning her from behind, with her prick being only half-soft and pressing at Aile’s backside insistently; and there is a small form curled by Aile’s belly and sucking on her thumb in their sleep. Aile opens her eyes, and there is Leiv’s red head down her body.

She removes herself carefully from the warm nest of bodies. First, she pushes Leiv away from herself, and goes still when he whimpers and jerks, but he doesn’t wake. Runa growls in her sleep, but lets Aile go. Then Aile moves Uffe’s head, balling furs to make a pillow for them. She gets up and stretches—and freezes middle-stretch, snickering. Hakon has ended up lying on Uffe’s stomach, one arm draped over his mate’s middle.

The air is thick with the scent of heat and spilled seed, and Aile is covered in the latter from head to toe, it seems. One of her braids has loosened, and she tugs the beads off and starts remaking it. There is a comb in her armour, but Aile can’t be bothered to search for it.

A bath or a hot spring would have been wonderful right now, as much as Aile loves that she is wearing the combined scents of her Pack—and the wonderful sorcerer. They could have continued their coupling in the bath.

The fire has died long time ago, and none of them noticed it. The nest of bodies and furs is warm enough, but Aile goes to the exit of the cave. A whiff of air cools the sweat on her body, invigorating her.

The sorcerer is standing in the mouth of the cave.

‘The storm has passed, it seems,’ Aile notes as she stops near him.

Enten has a few pelts thrown over his shoulders, but other than that he is naked. He is radiating heat, but his scent is more stable—curiously stable, in fact. Usually it takes a lot more, at least a full day and a night, to get the heat under control. The sorcerer is watching the scenery and crunching on the protein bar distractedly. ‘Just so,’ he says quietly, and although Aile appreciates the sentiment, she doubts her Pack can be roused by his voice right now. When his heat washes over them again, though… ‘Communication is active, but I’m afraid, sister, our armour needs to be checked thoroughly, so, if you please, I will ask for evacuation.’

Aile frowns. ‘You sound more coherent than I expected. Does your heat usually last shorter than among the children of Fenris?’

Enten turns to her and holds the protein bar to her. She takes it with a nod of thanks and bites into it. It’s important to stay hydrated and well-fed during one’s heat.

She looks into Enten’s eyes, and they shimmer with golden specks of laughter. ‘I’m a biomancer, sister. Meaning, I hold control over the various processes not only in my enemies, but in my own body, too. Including the process of heat.’

Aile freezes mid-bite and blinks at him a few times.

His shoulders start to shake, and she realises he’s laughing.

Aile chews and swallows quickly. ‘You… tricked us!’

Enten is gasping, clasping at the pelts that threaten to fall from his shoulders. ‘I merely took an opportunity to create a bond with you and started my heat slightly earlier than usual. I like the results so far.’

Another gush of wind carries to her Enten’s thickening scent, and her arousal stirs in reply.

She finishes the bar in a few bites and pulls the laughing sorcerer to herself by his neck, and breathes into his ear, desire coiling in her belly, ‘I’m marking you as our own. Call the evac to pick us up in a few hours, and then we’re not letting you away until you’re thoroughly spent, sorcerer.’ Aile bites into his shoulder, then licks the sweat off his skin. ‘And if you don’t conceive by the end of this heat, then I’m not Aile the Quickfanged.’

Enten’s arms wrap around her, and quick fingers press just under her ribs, and in a few moments she’s suffocating with want as hot breath ghosts over her lips, ‘I take your word for it, sister. Shall we continue?’

Aile pulls him back into the cave where her Pack is already woken and waiting for their prey. She will add the sorcerer to her Pack, she swears to herself.


End file.
